Many years ago, my daughter was helping me with chores. We were changing the sheets on my bed.

“So, Mom.” Uh oh, I thought, glancing at my petite and wily daughter, barely six years old. She is the middle child, the only girl between two boys.

“So, Mom. I KNOW how babies are made” (a side glance and glare, accompanied by her head toss placing emphasis on the word ‘know’). “I know how babies are made. But what do you do to have another baby?”

The universe froze. Images triggered by my daughter’s question raced through my head. I flipped the sheet across my King-sized bed then smoothed it into place while answering, “You do the same thing that made the first baby. You know, have sex.’

My daughter stared at me. “You did THAT, three times?!”

Once again I flipped the sheet into the air, this time to hide my smile. My daughter, a worldly, knowledgable and righteous child would not be pleased to see her mommy giggle right now. Smoothing the sheet again, smile under control, I said, “Yes. Yes I did.”

May all babies be born into loving hands